


Family Feud

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [19]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Still a pushover, huh?” Sam calls on his way back to the bench.“Your mom’s a pushover!” Harry yells reflexively.“I’m telling her you said that!” Sam shouts back, and fuck, he totally will.





	Family Feud

With the ridiculous level of drama in Harry’s life, and the constant swinging between stupid happy and, like, full of dread and insecurity, Harry wasn’t really paying much attention to the next team they’re playing until he gets a text the morning of game day and he remembers that it’s probably going to be a shitshow, because Sam’s in town.

_Good luck! Don’t hurt each other!_ , mom’s sent, clearly to both of them, followed by dad’s _Go North Kings!_ , which Harry sadly couldn’t convince him wasn’t funny the first time, nor any time since. “Sam said it was funny,” dad said, all offended sounding. Sam’s a fucking suck up.

It’s texts instead of chiding in person, which is what he’ll get when they go to California in January, then probably again when they go in March, because every time Harry’s played Sam in front of family it’s been at the Staples Center. Honestly, he can’t blame them. Dead of winter, you have a choice of thawing yourself out in California or freezing your ass worse in Minnesota? It’s going to be California every time, and has been, at least so far. The North Stars went to California twice last year, and both times his parents were in the crowd, jersey free, trying to be neutral.

“I’m always going to cheer for you,” Annie said, before the first time Harry and Sam played each other. “No exceptions.”

“Want to send me a text saying that?” Harry asked.

“And start family drama?” Annie asked.

“I wouldn’t show anyone,” Harry said.

“You’d rub it in Sam’s face the second you saw him,” Annie said, which was probably true.

She’s still apparently against putting it in writing, since her text before the game is almost identical to Deb’s _good luck guys!_ , but Harry knows she’s going to be cheering for him all the way. That’s small comfort, since Sam’s won all but one of their match-ups, is the only one of the two of them with points on the board, but whatever. Annie’s probably watching, and she’s definitely rooting for him. That’s something.

*

Sam clearly didn’t pay much attention to mom’s text, because it takes all of a period and a half for him to nail Harry into the boards in a hit that crosses from borderline straight into illegal. He laid one on Evan in the first, and even though Evan’s got a fair number of inches on Sam, he still looked rattled after, so Harry’s maybe been looking for their shifts to overlap so he could deliver a nice brotherly love tap.

Sam gets to him first. He always fucking does. Harry shakes it off fast enough, because he braced himself the second he saw Sam coming, and elbows him in the side after, wishing he could get his stupid smug face.

“Way to be a fucking dick,” Harry says.

“Did you touch me?” Sam asks. “I didn’t feel anything.”

It’s a really obvious goad, and anyone else, Harry could ignore it, but because it’s Sam he finds him elbowing him again, harder this time.

“Oh buddy,” Sam says, all fake sad, and Harry is tempted to _kick him in the teeth_ for good measure.

The ref skates over, looking serious right up until he catches the names on their jerseys. “Family issues?” he asks, sounding amused.

“Little brothers,” Sam says. “Always trying to follow in your footsteps.”

“I’m going to smother you with a pillow the next time I see you,” Harry says.

“Save it for Christmas break,” the ref says, then starts nudging Harry back toward his bench.

“Still a pushover, huh?” Sam calls on his way back to the bench.

“Your mom’s a pushover!” Harry yells reflexively.

“I’m telling her you said that!” Sam shouts back, and fuck, he totally will.

“I wish I had a brother,” Fitzy says wistfully when Harry sits down beside him on the bench, already dreading that call from his mom.

“You really don’t,” Harry mutters.

*

The Kings take the game 2-1. Harry actually got an assist this time, and Sam nothing but two minutes in the box, but that isn’t much of a comfort when you walk away with zero points, especially on home turf. 

He’s got a text from his mom when he gets out of the shower, just a sad face, and Harry doesn’t know if that’s for the loss and she just sent it to him, or if she sent it to both of them for breaking the ‘no fighting’ rule. Not that it was a fight, exactly, but she’d just say that was Harry being pedantic. It’s her favorite word for him, after like, sweetie, but she calls all four of them that. Pedantic is Harry’s and Harry’s alone.

_drinks or r u busy crying over losing again?_ , Sam texts him.

_Drinks_ , Harry sends, followed by, _Asshole_.

He’s scowling down at Sam’s emoji explosion after, trying to figure out how a clown, nose, and tango dancer are supposed to be insulting but knowing they are, when Evan sits down beside him, knocking his knee against Harry’s.

“Tough loss,” Evan says, when Harry puts his phone away, knocks his bare knee against Evan’s suited one, then, very quiet, “Do you want to come over?”

“I can’t,” Harry says reluctantly. 

“Or I can come over, if you need to take care of Beau,” Evan says, then, looking like, shocked at his own daring, “I don’t mean to pressure—”

“I’m meeting up with my brother,” Harry says. “Or I totally would.”

“Sorry, I didn’t think about—” Evan says, going pink, and not the pretty flush — though it’s still pretty, honestly — but the one that means he’s feeling mortified when he shouldn’t. Harry knows when you should feel mortified, thanks to a mouth that runs away with him, and daring to invite your boyfriend over — is it boyfriends? It feels weird to say — is not something you should be embarrassed by.

“Don’t apologize,” Harry says. “Seriously, if he wouldn’t rat me out to my mom I’d ditch his ass to go to yours.”

“Harry,” Evan says, with this slight scolding tone, but he doesn’t duck his head fast enough to hide a little smile that warms Harry right through.

“I can come over tomorrow, though,” Harry says. “Or you can come to mine and I’ll make you dinner. Any excuse to use the grill before it’s covered in snow.”

Evan pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and Harry knows exactly what he’s going to say before he comes out with a small, “I can’t, I. Um.”

“You can say Roman’s name, you know,” Harry says. “I’m not going to explode in rage or something.” Just maybe curl up into a ball of envy and inferiority, but that’s not Evan’s fault. Harry said he was okay with the situation, and whether or not that’s completely true — probably that ball of envy and inferiority is _not_ okay, but whatever — Evan shouldn’t have to hide the fact he’s spending time with his…other boyfriend?

God, this sucks. Harry tries to keep that off his face, but he doesn’t think he does a very good job, because Evan’s looking concerned with a side of guilty now. 

“Well, you’ll see a lot of me when we head out again,” Harry says. “Wouldn’t want to get sick of me before that or anything, so that’s probably smart.”

“Harry,” Evan says.

“Don’t want to keep my brother waiting,” Harry says. “He’ll be a dick about it.”

Evan looks like he wants to argue, then deflates. “Have fun,” he says.

Harry laughs. “I won’t,” he says.

*

Sam’s waiting for him outside, apparently unable to charm the security guards into letting him into the parking garage. Smart of them. He’s bundled up like it isn’t above freezing, only his eyes and nose visible between his hat and his scarf.

“Cali made you soft,” Harry says.

“Whatever, you try dealing with a fifty degree drop in a day,” Sam says through chattering teeth. 

“C’mon,” Harry says, leading him back inside, because if he doesn’t Sam will start to whine. “Bar or mine?”

“Yours is good,” Sam says. “Gotta catch up with my man Beau.” Beau likes Sam for some reason. Nobody’s taste is perfect.

It starts to rain on the drive back to Harry’s, the freezing kind that means he’s probably going to have to give up on the grill sooner rather than later. It’s barely more than drizzle, but that’s just enough that Harry has to keep his eyes on the road and can’t punch Sam for fucking with his radio stations, landing on some crap Top 40 station and humming along off key to Taylor Swift. Harry doesn’t even know how they’re related.

Harry doesn’t bother saving Sam from Beau’s excited leaping dance, though Sam and his girlfriend have two German Shepherds, so he’ll be fine. He’s still got the crazy variety of beer from his panicked shopping trip before Evan came over, but he vengefully cracks open a Molson Canadian for Sam. Evan passed over it when he was over, thank fuck, because Harry maybe would have judged a bit even if he was the one to buy it, so now it’s just going to sit around until someone’s willing to drink it, and that someone is Sam or he’s shit out of luck.

“Oh cool, I love this stuff,” Sam says when Harry hands it over, which takes most of the pleasure out of it. “Your guy Canadian or something?”

“My guy?” Harry asks, voice going kind of high at the end, and Sam doesn’t even mock him for it, which is actually terrifying.

“Yeah, uh,” Sam says, grimacing, “Apparently there’s a man in your life?”

“Oh my god,” Harry says, then promptly tries to drown himself in his beer. It’s hard to drown yourself down a bottleneck. Pint would be easier. They should have gone to a bar, especially because Harry’s pretty sure Sam wouldn’t be talking about this in public.

“Wanna…talk about it?” Sam asks, still grimacing.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Harry asks.

“Annie’s making me ask,” Sam says defensively. 

Of course she is. Of _course_ she is.

“She tell you who it is?” Harry asks.

“No,” Sam says. “Wait, does that mean I _know_ him?”

“No,” Harry says quickly. He doesn’t think Sam checking Evan a couple hours ago counts as ‘knowing’, exactly. “Tell Annie I said it’s none of your fucking business.”

“She said you’d say that,” Sam says. “She said to say if you quit dodging her calls she wouldn’t uh, make me sick on you?”

That’s something that hasn’t happened since their trip to New Orleans, and doesn’t seem like Annie’s style anyway. “Sic you on me?” Harry guesses.

“That’s the one,” Sam says.

“What’s she blackmailing you with?” Harry asks curiously.

“Nothing, god,” Sam says with a theatrical scoff. Harry’s going to have to remember to ask Annie next time he talks to her. Which may be never, who the hell sics someone’s _brother_ on them? 

“I’m not telling you anything,” Harry says.

“Thank god,” Sam says, then, “It’s not the gay thing or whatever, you know I’m cool with Annie and you—”

“I’m not gay,” Harry says.

“Okay, the _dudes_ thing,” Sam says. “Or ladies for Annie or whatever, you know what I mean.”

“I got it, Samuel,” Harry says. Sam was super weird when Annie came out, and it may have kept Harry’s mouth shut for awhile, but he’s mellowed out to the level where Harry thinks he’s still a little uncomfortable, but he’d punch a dude for saying shit about Annie’s or Harry’s sexuality. Sam’s kind of punch happy in general, though.

Sam punches his arm. Hard.

“Ow!” Harry says. “What the hell?” Did Sam get psychic? Can Harry make people punch him with the power of his mind? Power of his mouth he knew, but _mind_?

“Don’t call me Samuel, Harold,” Sam says.

Or maybe just that. Makes more sense.

Harry rubs his arm. “I’m telling mom,” he says.

“I’m telling mom,” Sam says, in the most obnoxious, whiny imitation of Harry ever.

“You literally said the exact same thing on the ice!” Harry says.

“Oh yeah,” Sam says. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Dammit.

Sam drinks most of Harry’s Molsons before his curfew gets close, which is a mixed blessing because it’s good to get rid of them, but he sticks around just long enough that it’s just a little too late to go anywhere, and Harry’s had too much to drive even if it wasn’t.

He’s still tempted to see if Evan would still be up for him to come over, could Uber over, but it’d probably look like a booty call. Which it kind of would be, but. Whatever. Harry already told Evan it’d be better if they didn’t see each other too much before the next roadie, short as it is, and anyway, knowing Evan he’s probably already getting for bed, brushing his teeth in those soft plaid PJs, maybe wearing one of his old Juniors shirts that are super soft and worn from washing, tight at the chest and the shoulders in a way they couldn’t have been then. He looks kind of like Superman about to rip his shirt off or something. Good costume idea for him, way better than whatever it was he was doing with Victor on Halloween, couples costuming it up as construction workers, though admittedly his arms were — he’s got some good arms. Big, not like Roman’s ‘I probably enjoy flexing way too much’ arms, but strong. He’s a little hesitant in bed, would never manhandle Harry, but Harry knows he _could_ , and that’s honestly pretty fucking hot.

Harry checks the time on his phone, wonders if it’s _really_ too late. Maybe Evan’s having a late night. Maybe Evan’s already in bed, hand curled around that gorgeous cock, flushed even darker than him at his most embarrassed, wouldn’t mind Harry coming over and giving him a hand with that.

_Do not text him,_ Harry tells himself sternly. Instead he texts Annie with a simple _You suck_ , hopefully vengefully that it wakes her up, then takes himself to bed. 

He ends up thinking about Evan in bed like, thinking about Harry in bed, in some weird feedback loop, but it’s working for him, especially once he involves the lube from his bedside drawer, everything tight and wet, not like the heat of Evan’s mouth around him, but just close enough to get him thinking about it, the way Evan looked up at him through his lashes, like he was gauging how he was doing, because of course he was, the moment he got enough into it, or confident enough, to close his eyes, long lashes brushing his cheeks, hair soft under Harry’s fingers when he ran a hand through it, not pushing, just needing to touch him, how red his mouth was after, tonguing over his bottom lip unconsciously, like he was trying to catch a stray drop, the noise he made into Harry’s mouth when Harry hauled him up into a kiss, not quite like the ones before, almost _pleased_ sounding, like one of his sunny smiles in the shape of a sound.

Maybe Evan’s thinking about that, or how Harry’s mouth felt around _him_. Except. Maybe Evan isn’t jerking off to Harry. Maybe he’s imagining Roman instead, or _remembering_. If Evan could manhandle Harry, Roman could manhandle _anyone_ , even Evan. Evan makes himself seem small sometimes, somehow completely rearranging physics or whatever when he does, and with Roman he _could_ be, still a giant but lanky in comparison to Roman’s bulk. Maybe Roman curved a big hand around the back of his head, instead of petting him made him _take_ it, and Evan’s thinking about that, panting, mouth wide open, or biting down hard on his bottom lip, while he jerks off, rough, thinking about all the other things Roman could make him take.

Maybe he isn’t even _alone_ , invited Roman over when Harry declined his invite, maybe he’s got Roman jerking him off instead, or thrusting down his throat, or with a hand between his shoulders, pushing into him, talking him into it sweetly, took it slow like he deserves, right up until he didn’t, hips snapping against Evan’s ass while Evan muffles his moan against his pillow, or biting into his forearm, Roman’s fingers leaving bruises on his hips Harry will see in the locker room, Roman pulling Evan up so he can’t keep quiet, can’t muffle the sounds he makes with Roman balls deep and —

Harry has the most confusing orgasm he’s ever had in his life, but he falls asleep before he can worry too much about it.


End file.
